


Turbulence

by alvfr



Series: "Accidents" [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Accidental Sex, Airplane Sex, Boss/Employee Relationship, Come Swallowing, Coming Untouched, Deepthroating, Dry Humping, Exhibitionism, Explicit Language, F/M, If You Squint - Freeform, Mile High Club, Nipple Licking, Nipple Play, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Power Imbalance, Public Blow Jobs, Public Hand Jobs, Public Sex, Quiet Sex, Reader-Insert, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, no y/n
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:26:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29811861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alvfr/pseuds/alvfr
Summary: As the newest member of the BAU, you had nothing but professional respect for your boss, SSA Aaron Hotchner. Sure, he was an attractive man, but your mind had never strayed even close to considering him as anything more than a capable and accomplished Unit Chief.This changes when three instances of turbulence literally throw the two of you together, and you cross the barrier from professional to indecent - all just a few feet from the rest of your team.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Reader, Aaron Hotchner/You
Series: "Accidents" [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2211921
Comments: 53
Kudos: 158





	Turbulence

**Author's Note:**

> Decided it was time to lose my smut-virginity... 
> 
> If you follow me for my Teen Wolf/Stranger Things-stories, I apologize in advance as this is something... completely different.  
> Mind the tags, people!

The first time it happened was on the way back to Quantico. 

You had only been on the team for a few months, but with the case-load the BAU faced, you had probably racked up a few years of experience during that short time. You were still the ‘new girl’, however, a friendly moniker adopted with a tongue-in-cheek grin by Morgan. You didn’t mind. You  _ were  _ the new girl and it were times like these, after a case ended, it became most apparent. Unlike the other people on the team who actually had been doing this for years, you were unable to turn off your brain and just go to sleep in the comfortable armchair-like plane seats.

Most had taken to using headphones or sleep masks. While quiet, there was always the gentle whirr of the plane-engines in the background and safety protocols dictated a minimum level of light to be kept on at all times. JJ, the team’s former press liaison turned profiler, slumped against the window in the seat next to you. Eyes closed, breath steady, she listened to ambient rainforest-sounds as she slept — a fact you only knew because she had recommended it the last time you made it back to Quantico and it became apparent you hadn’t slept a wink on the plane.

While you appreciated the tip, it didn’t seem to work any better than the breathing exercises Reid had proposed and you were still the only one wide awake. Last thing to try was chamomile tea — the lovely Miss Penelope Garcia’s idea — and you gently removed your own headphones to avoid disturbing any of the others. Not that you should have bothered; these guys were so used to the small humps and dumps of the airplane bringing them back and forth the country that you getting up from your seat didn’t even make them stir.

Okay, you weren’t the only one awake on the plane. Another sound, rhythmic and consistently blending in with the environment of the plane, reached you after removing the headphones. 

Supervisory Special Agent Aaron "Hotch" Hotchner, BAU Unit Chief and whatever other role he was currently stepping in sat upright in one of the single seats near the back of the plane, tapping away on his laptop. While you had no doubts he was trying to keep as quiet as possible — the team’s wellbeing his primary concern at all times — he had a man’s way of using the keyboard, punching the keys decisively as he finished his reports. The shine from the laptop highlighted his deep-set eyes, further darkened by his black brows pulled together in concentration. Hotch, as he’d requested you called him several times now, never rested, but at least he had removed his suit jacket and loosened up his tie somewhat to get comfortable during the flight. The last case had been in a rural area outside Seattle, meaning one of the longer stretches the team usually faced in the air.

You had to pass him on the way back to the kitchenette and he glanced up, the dark furrow smoothening out and you knew what he was going to ask before he did.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you said with a small smile, careful to keep your voice down. You liked Hotch, even from the limited interactions you’ve had with him. During the debriefs, he gave off an impression of actually caring for his team, in contrast with some of the other supervisory agents you’ve had who only cared on paper. “Just gonna try some of that chamomile-tea Garcia recommended. Calming purposes.”

“Sounds like a plan.” 

Satisfied you weren’t on the verge of burnout just yet, he returned his focus back to the laptop and the sound of his typing followed you down towards the kitchenette. 

The curtains were pulled shut and you snuck in without opening them too much, trying to keep the darkness intact for your sleeping colleagues outside. The overhead light here seemed harsh and made you blink, but at least you could see what you were doing when refilling the electric kettle and turning it on to boil. You wondered whose idea it had been to get an electric kettle instead of a coffee maker or if it was just standard design to ensure both coffee and tea drinkers were treated fairly. It could be the same person who had filled the cupboards with hot chocolate mixes — sounded like Reid actually — and you rolled your eyes, searching for that stupid chamomile tea Garcia insisted would be onboard.

Standing on your toes to reach the upper cabinets, you only heard the curtains rustle gently, mostly overpowered by the kettle being close to boiling.

“Sorry,” Hotch said, still in a hushed voice. You assumed he apologized for intruding in the small kitchenette, even though it was spacious enough for both of you to move around without touching. “Just figured I could do with some coffee and I didn’t see the point of running the kettle twice.”

A fair point as the boiling water almost drowned out the general humming of the plane engines.

You nodded, still more preoccupied with the tea-search and Hotch went to the cupboard next to you to get a paper cup. The cramped space made the two of you stand a bit closer than normal, but it was more of a layout issue than anything else. 

The effort of standing on your toes eventually caught up and you lost balance slightly. Without thinking, you took a small step to the side to compensate. A jolt of electricity bounded through your skin when the movement caused your arm to brush against the side of his.

Anyone else on the team, you wouldn’t even have noticed the contact, but Hotch was your boss. Your relationship wasn’t even platonic, it was professional, and you couldn’t remember a single instance where you had ever touched each other apart from the initial handshake during your interview. 

A heat spread up from the base of your spine when the movement made him glance your way, obviously interpreting the touch as intentional to get his attention.

A slight second passed where you fully considered just how close the two of you were standing. Again, the corner-layout of the kitchenette didn’t allow for much and you often bumped hips with Morgan or even Rossi back here when your snack-breaks overlapped, but this was different. This was Hotch, your boss, whose discreet cologne wafted over to you and for some reason made your mouth dry.

To cover up for the awkwardness you suspected only you felt in the first place, you cleared your throat. “Uh,” you whispered at him, “do you know where the tea is?”

Probably a stupid question as Hotch was most definitely a coffee-drinker. 

“I can’t, uh, reach,” you continued vaguely, hoping the addition made the cover story more believable even though you hadn’t even needed a cover story in the first place because the touch had truly been accidental. Why had you made something up? Did you worry he would think you were ‘accidentally’ brushing up against him? Did you worry he would interpret the ‘accidental’ touch as an invitation for something more? Because that honestly had not crossed your mind before now and now it was all you could think about.

Of course, this was Hotch, the epitome of professionalism, and his mind did not seem to stray an inch in the direction yours had gone. 

“Hang on, I know Rossi keeps some of the good stuff somewhere in here,” he said with an easy smile and leaned sideways to help you look, completely oblivious to how you pressed yourself against the side-wall of the kitchenette to avoid more accidental contact. His additional inches of height gave him a better vantage point to search the higher cabinets, but to no avail. “Maybe they’re in the drawers, I can’t-”

A hard jolt of the plane cut him off. 

Instinctively you both reached for the nearest fixed holding point, which was easy in your case with your whole back against the wall. Hotch put one hand on the counter and the other against the wall opposite the kitchenette, and you both waited for the next bump. Turbulence happened more or less on half the flights. No big deal.

Several seconds passed where the plane kept gliding smoothly through the air. Hotch released his wide-armed stance and straightened up.

“You okay?” he asked and you realized you’d been holding your breath.

“Yeah, sorry, still not used to the-”

Another round of turbulence hit and the whole plane shook. While you stumbled back into the corner, Hotch had the foresight to reach over to slam the cabinet door shut so everything wouldn’t spill out over you. A particular hard tremor hit at that exact moment and Hotch lost his balance.

Before you knew it, his entire body pressed up against you, both of you in the corner of the kitchenette with the plane jumbling around. The initial movement knocked the breath out of you, his hard torso bumping into your chest and his chin hitting your forehead. Luckily, he was able to brace his arms against the wall, giving you some breathing room while the plane shook and danced.

The slight  _ ding _ signaling an announcement from the captain sounded and his voice was barely audible over all the bumping:  _ “Sorry, guys, got some turbulence coming up. Should be over in a few seconds, hang in there.” _

The turbulence, reminiscent of a mild earthquake now, usually had you considering how a plane really was a metal construction ten thousand feet into the air and defying at least your basic understanding of physics, but for some reason, the heat of Hotch’s body distracted from all that. Locked between the wall and Hotch, both his arms trapped around you, the hard edge of his belt digging into your waist, and his breath brushing across your forehead, you briefly wondered how this would look for anyone happening to walk in. 

Apparently Hotch had the same thing in mind. “Sorry. Are you okay? I’m just gonna-” 

His effort to push off you backfired when a new jolt shook the plane at the same second he lifted his arm. He smashed into you again, his larger body locking your arms down by your side, his head bumping against your forehead. 

As the ‘new girl’ on the team, you had taken to wearing a lot of the same style clothes as JJ, figuring it meant a smaller chance of going wrong. This meant you usually wore tight t-shirts in a dark neutral color and today was no exception. No visible cleavage, thank God, but you could feel how the bulk of Hotch’s surprisingly muscular chest pushed against your breasts, squeezing them between you and worse, how the tremors of the plane caused a certain friction against your increasingly stiff nipples. You wondered if Hotch would be able to feel it, how the now hard buds pressed into his chest. Probably not, you figured and hoped. With the whole plane jumping around, he would hardly notice something like that, not with his shirt, your t-shirt and your sports bra between you. It sounded like a lot of layers, but it felt like a lot less. 

“Hey,” Hotch repeated and you realized you had gone completely quiet underneath him and daring to glance up, you saw him staring down with concern in his dark eyes. “You okay?”

“Uh-huh,” you said, although it sounded like a whimper and you could kick yourself for thinking about stuff like  _ that _ when Hotch obviously was able to keep it professional, even with the decidedly unprofessional way you were pushed against each other. Accidents happen, you thought, he had just as little choice as you on the matter. You swallowed, regained some coherent thought and looked up at Hotch’s face, just inches away from yours. “You?”

This close, you couldn’t help but take in all the details of Aaron Hotchner’s face. The dark shadow of a stubble, the hard edge of his mouth, the sharp jawline — of course you knew he was an attractive guy, you just hadn’t fully considered just  _ how _ attractive he was. Age-difference aside, he was really good-looking. 

And your boss, you reminded yourself, no matter how good his body felt as it filled out every available space on yours.

At that point, the turbulence subsided. 

Seasoned flyers, you both waited to make sure it truly was over before moving. Still locked under Hotch, you waited for him to pull away first, pushing backward until you could safely stand up. You hoped the dark color of your t-shirt concealed the obvious evidence of your ill-timed arousal when Hotch let his dark gaze sweep over you, checking to see if you actually were okay. It had to be wishful thinking that his eyes lingered a fraction longer on your chest than anywhere else.

“Sorry,” Hotch said, now giving you a disarming smile as he rearranged his crisp white shirt that had ridden up during the whole ordeal. “I didn’t mean to smother you.”

“That’s okay,” you said instantly, tongue tying when your brain tried to add ‘ _ I didn’t mind _ .’ You cleared your throat, made sure your own clothes were still on and then gestured towards the electric kettle as if to remind both him and your body of the original purpose of being back here anyway. “Water’s done.”

“Right,” Hotch said and took a step back, pressing himself against the wall opposite the counter to allow you space to safely emerge from the corner. “Go ahead, you first.”

In an unspoken agreement to keep some distance, you moved around the tiny kitchenette and exchanged places. Just as you reached back into the cabinet to get a paper cup, you remembered you still hadn’t found the tea.

You turned to Hotch with a question mark, because he had said  _ something _ about the location of the tea before, but you could not for the life of you remember.

“Bottom drawer,” Hotch said, correctly interpreting your dumbfounded expression.

“Rig-”

The plane lurched just as you bent down to the drawer. Overbalanced, you automatically stepped forward to avoid crashing on your face, but instead you crashed into SSA Aaron Hotchner. As the whole world tilted back, Hotch instinctively grabbed you so you wouldn’t tumble backward and out through the closed curtains.

_ Ding _

_ “Okay, one more round. Just stay in your seats, guys!” _

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you yelped, but had no choice but to grab on when the next round of shaking had both of you momentarily weightless. Your hands closed around his upper arms, dimly noting how incredibly firm his biceps were and how his body radiated heat through his dress shirt. 

“Okay, just hold on,” his calm voice came from somewhere around your temple and the next jolt flung you into him even harder. It knocked the breath out of both of you and to prevent you from tumbling around like a pinball, Hotch wrapped his strong arms around you — one arm around your waist, the other around your upper back, holding you close and the sensation of his palms felt like burning coal through the flimsy material of your shirt. 

Again, the way your breasts pressed up against him and the general vibrations of just everything made your nipples rub and stiffen further inside your sports bra. It was no denying that it felt good and you held your breath, worried you would accidentally moan, bringing further awkwardness to the situation. 

His large hands on your back held you in place and you found yourself imagining those large hands — the same ones that had just been pounding away on the keyboard out in the plane — cupping your naked breasts, rolling your nipples between strong fingers, teasing and twisting and pulling just a  _ little _ too hard. You could imagine the look on his face too, that dark and concentrated expression, dedicated to whatever task at hand, even if that task was making you come undone.

This was your  _ boss _ , you reminded yourself, but somehow that thought didn’t deter your fantasies the slightest. In fact, you could feel the slick sensation between your legs of your panties gliding over wet skin.

In addition to that delicious friction, you noticed a rumble in his chest. Talking. He was talking and had in fact said your name at least twice now.

“What?” you asked, looking up at him and his face which was again, entirely too close for the sort of professional relationship you had. His arms still around you, you realized how utterly compromising the position was, how it would look if any of your team-mates walked back here or if the curtains opened to the rest of the plane. 

“Are you okay?” Hotch asked, a tilt to his brow, again showcasing concern. For some reason, his face seemed tighter drawn than usual, and you realized the turbulence had stopped and you had failed to make any movement to releasing him from the awkward pose. 

“Uh, yeah, sorry,” you breathed and pulled back, hoping and praying he would interpret the strange behavior to fear leftover from the turbulence. Plane crashes were incredibly rare — Reid had the numbers in his head, but you couldn’t even have recited your own badge-number right now — but  aviophobia was still one of the more common phobias out there. Would it explain the flush in your cheeks or the breathlessness? You hoped so.

Half of you wanted to run back to your seat out in the plane, clamp on your headphones and try to blend in with the scenery until you touched the ground again. Another half of you wanted to run into the cramped lavatory of the jet, push down your pants and use your fingers to relieve some of that arousal. Maybe snake a hand up your own shirt, tug down the sports bra and use two fingers to twist one of your nipples, pretending the hand belonged to none other than the stone-faced man in front of you right now, obviously waiting for you to finish your cup of tea.

“I’m just gonna, uh, find that tea,” you mumbled and gestured towards the bottom drawers. This time you took care to plant your feet in case of more turbulence, prepared to grab onto the counter instead of stumbling into your boss’ hot and firm body.

Hotch cleared his throat, again sounding a bit strained and you could only imagine him nodding, because now you had his back to him and was bent over, trying to find that stupid chamomile tea so you could escape. Another flush passed over you when you realized that in your effort to plant your feet, you had spread your legs a bit when bending over and for a wild moment, you wondered if you were so wet it had seeped through the fabric of your dress pants and he could see it. 

Impossible because no matter how wet you had become, it would be impossible to detect through the  _ black _ dress pants you wore. Nevertheless, it had put you in a compromising position because, based on another tip from JJ, your dress pants were in fact not really dress pants. They  _ looked _ like dress pants, but instead of the stiff and unyielding fabric of traditional suits, they were in a stretchy polyester/spandex blend that allowed for more movement. Handy when chasing down suspects or trying to get comfortable on long flights. 

However, the stretchy fabric now meant they stretched tight over your exposed backside, showing your  _ boss _ a nice view of your ass, the contours probably highlighted by the overhead light. 

_ Where was that fucking tea? _

“Got it!” you triumphantly exclaimed, finding the small carton with the white flower pattern and was about to stand back up when the plane jolted  _ again _ . “Are you kidding me?”

Your spread legs and quick foresight to fall over the small kitchenette counter spared you the humiliation of falling back against Hotch. You heard him smack against the back wall instead.

The captain’s voice sounded over the PA:  _ “Sorry, guys, it’s a short one. Just hang on!” _

Knuckles white, you held onto the counter, not daring to stand up in case you knocked your head against the overhead cabinets. The world tilted this way and that, but a particular hard lurch made your stomach flip and you heard Hotch swear sharply.

Before you knew it, his body covered yours again, this time from behind and one of his hands braced against the counter next to yours, sparing  _ him _ a concussion from smacking into the overhead cabinets. His other hand grabbed the first available thing for a holding point — that first available thing happened to be you. Or more precisely your hip.

The plane shook and jumped around, and you could hear stuff rattling inside the cabinets, but it was hard to focus on anything but the fact that Hotch’s long and lean body now covered yours almost from head to toe. His legs were flush against yours, slightly spread for balance, and his hips pressed against your backside, while the angle of his torso had him almost laying over your back, only his longer arms keeping him from smothering you completely.

There was no apology from him this time, both of you just holding on to prevent from getting tossed around because a concussion  _ could _ still happen. Instead of his chest, now your breasts were smothered against the smooth kitchen counter, but your nipples were still hard and sensitive and the combined layer of the sports bra and t-shirt did nothing to prevent the tingling coiling directly from your nipples into your belly, settling down between your legs.

So focused on not moaning, you nearly missed the grunt Hotch let out, his head just inches above yours and your mind jumped to the conclusion that he somehow  _ knew _ how your nipples rubbed against the interior of the plane, that he somehow  _ knew _ how wet you were between your legs, that he somehow  _ knew _ part of the excitement came from these directly unprofessional positions with a man you were not supposed to have anything but a professional relationship with.

A more rational part of your mind, the one that had gotten you this place in the BAU in the first place, pointed out the grunt most likely stemmed from the effort of holding himself back, to avoid crushing you underneath his bulk. Despite the erotic undertones, it could not be comfortable for either of you and you could feel the holster of his service-weapon push against the soft muscle of your ass.

The rational part of you compared this fact with how his arms were positioned — his one hand still gripped your hip for support — and wondered what kind of contortionist position he had pulled in order for his holster to rub against you like that. 

Hotch let out another sharp grunt, the kind that told you his lips were firmly pressed together, making an attempt to contain the sound that escaped. 

That was not his gun-holster.

Your mouth dropped open, emitting a soft gasp yourself, and you hardly noticed the next round of turbulence. Well, you noticed it, but mostly because it caused Hotch’s erect cock to rub harder against you where it now nestled between your cheeks. The stretchy material of your work pants made it feel he was pushing directly against the wet fabric of your panties. Rationally, if you could use that word anymore, you knew there were two more layers between you, his probably sensible tight boxers and the expensive dress pants, but it felt immaterial at best. Like one hard push forward and he would be inside of you.

His fingers dug further into your hip and you wondered if it came from the effort of holding himself up where the jolting plane tried to physically force you together. Or if his grip tightened because at that moment he was imagining the same as you: how it would feel for him to just grab your hips and plunge himself straight into you over and over again with your breasts rubbing against the counter with each hard stroke.

Neither of you said anything, not that it would be heard over the loud rumbling of the plane, but you were unable to say anything because of the sheer willpower it took to contain a moan. You wanted to arch your back, to make his hard cock glide over you, to get some sort of contact against your now throbbing clit. Again, the image of his strong fingers, reaching down between you, giving you that rough and precise movement you required so desperately right now.

His hand on the counter next to yours was flexed, obviously keeping his weight up, as if you weren’t pressed together far beyond decency already. Long fingers, you noted, and swallowed thickly. Could he fit two inside of you? Pushing them into you, making sure you were ready for all of him because as you could feel now, Hotch was no small man. 

Would he be rough? Bend you over like this, spreading your legs with his, using one hand to hold you down over the counter, the other one slipping down to your now dripping pussy? Would he try to force three of those long hard fingers into you, edging on that boundary of pleasure and pain, making you a bit uncomfortable before going back down to two fingers, a perfect fit, pushing in and out of you? Taking them out, sliding further down, rub hard over your clit, make you come so you could feel yourself dripping down your legs before he pushed his cockhead past your opening and-

A particularly violent tremor brought you out of your highly unprofessional daydream. Not that it helped, because Hotch was still poised over you, his  _ actual _ hard cock nestled between your legs, and it was hard to tell, but it felt like he had become even harder. You wondered if this felt good for him or if he had the ability to detach himself so completely, that this was a purely bodily reaction from his side, nothing he could control or gain any kind of pleasure from.

Again you wondered how it would look. If anyone of the others woke up, noticed the two of you were missing, maybe worrying you had both been jolted around and knocked unconscious and then came to check the kitchenette. Just twitching the curtain aside and they would see you. See you bent over the counter like this, legs spread, and Hotch between them, bent over you again. It did not look like the accident it was. It did not look professional in the slightest.

They didn’t even need to see your stiff nipples straining against your bra. Didn’t need to see the wet patch in your panties. Didn’t need to see your boss’s impressively hard cock just four layers of fabric away from giving you the orgasm of a lifetime. 

His head was so close to yours you could hear every strained breath escaping his closed lips. You imagined them to be closed anyway. Imagined the same concentrated expression he always had, mouth in a tight line, focused on the task at hand, and now you couldn’t help but wonder if the task at hand was  _ not _ coming all over your ass. Just a bodily reaction or not, he was still incredibly hard and there was no way the turbulent movements of the plane weren’t giving him  _ some _ pleasure. 

You wondered if the heat from your pussy helped. You wondered if he could feel how wet you were somehow. You wondered if you were so wet it stained through your pants and left a spot on his dress pants. 

This is your boss, you reminded yourself. Your capable, compassionate, hot, muscular, erect boss with his body pressed against yours, almost bringing you to climax without even intending to.

Just one flick across your clit and you would have come, no questions about it. It never happened. Instead, the plane stilled, going back to the smooth gliding as usual. Neither you nor Hotch moved. Moving meant acknowledging the situation. So did talking. Neither of you said anything and you could hear his breathing matching your own — quiet and tense just inches over your ear.

_ Ding _

“ _ Okay, guys, that was it. We’re preparing for landing, so please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts. You know the drill.” _

The captain’s voice burst the bubble and the rational side of you made you widen your eyes, a view for the kitchenette counter alone to see. 

“Uh, I’ll just…” Hotch said in a breathless voice, cleared his throat and in one fluid movement, stepped away from you. Your t-shirt felt as soaked as your panties and the loss of his contact meant a rush of fresh air chilling your skin. 

Muscles almost cramped from what felt like an hour-long workout, you pushed up from the counter. Hotch was adjusting his shirt and you focused on his lean neck, the thick Adam’s apple, because you could not look at his face and you could also not look at his crotch even if you desperately wanted to see if he still was erect. There was something forbiddingly naughty thinking about Hotch’s dress pants stretched out over his hard cock and you were definitely  _ not _ going to look because as of now, you could still save the situation. Awkward, yes. Unprofessional, maybe. But not unsalvageable because nothing had been on purpose from either of you. Accidents happen. You were only human.

For a few long seconds you didn’t know what to do. Hotch finished with the sleeves of his shirt, although you had no idea what could have happened to them, and he stared hard into the wall next to him. It was as if you could see the mental gymnastics taking place of him getting back into a more suitable role.

“Are you,” he dared a glance at you, “okay?”

You weren’t in the BAU for nothing. This was his way of passing the ball over to your court. He made it your decision to address what had happened or brush over it. You had a feeling he would follow your lead either way. His team’s wellbeing was always his number one priority.

And while it was oh-so-tempting to make a joke about what happened, laugh it off with stories from your time in the academy when guys would get boners just from looking at their female companions during physical exercises let alone during sparring, the words died on your lips. This was your  _ boss _ . 

Unfortunately those words did not have the intended effect anymore.

If this had been Morgan or Reid or even Rossi, you would have joked it away. Poked a hole in the awkward bubble and maybe threatened to use it as blackmail later on if necessary, but obviously never following through on that. But this was Hotch, your boss, and instead of doing anything at all to ease the tension, you mumbled something about finding your seat and fleeing from the small kitchenette.

Pushing past the curtains was like emerging from the movie theatre. A different setting, a different atmosphere. While a few of your team-mates had awoken, several were still asleep. As if the plane hadn’t jumped and danced around for ages, as if you and Hotch hadn’t been four layers of clothing away from a decidedly unprofessional relationship just a few feet away from them.

Stiff nipples, drenched panties, head full of lustful thoughts about a guy you had never seen in that light before, you took your seat next to JJ. She opened her eyes, smiled, but didn’t even remove her headphones. 

Facing the front of the plane, you only heard Hotch open the curtains a little while later and take his seat.

* * *

The second time it happened was on the way to a case. 

As you had expected, Hotch followed your lead after the  _ incident _ as you mentally referred to it. And it was really a sign of his character that he somehow managed to avoid any further tension between the two of you. Despite your best efforts to notice, nothing changed in the way he treated you, for either better or worse. In fact, a few weeks after, you could almost pretend it hadn’t happened at all.

Or, you could have, if it hadn’t been one of your most frequently used fantasies for your alone-times since then. 

On the surface, you did your best to imitate Hotch and maintain the cordial and respectful relationship you had before the incident. The work made it easier. It was not for the faint of heart and Hotch’s dedication to his job helped keep your own head in the game. The days were long when you were working a case and didn’t allow for much downtime in-between.

It was when you returned home, however, to the sanctity of your own apartment that your thoughts wandered. Soon after, so did your hands and you found yourself getting off too many times to count at the fantasy of your boss’s hands all over you. Stroking you, rubbing you, pinching you and pushing into you until you climaxed, shivering and whispering his name. Hotch. Always Hotch. You knew his first name was Aaron, but that felt too comfortable. Too intimate. He was your  _ boss _ .

You tried to find other fantasies to focus on. Read erotica, watched porn, tried to recall what you had fantasized about before the incident. And in the post-orgasm bliss brought on by your own fingers, you told yourself this was the last time. He was your boss and at this point, hearing him pound the keyboards of his laptop was enough to make your nipples harden and you could not allow what happened to affect your career.

What happened that time in the kitchenette was a freak accident brought on by coincidences and turbulence and was never going to happen again.

Until it did. Sort of.

As usual, the call came suddenly, putting an effective halt to whatever else you had planned for the day.  _ Wheels up in thirty _ . 

On this particular day, you had attended a seminar on socio-economic factors of criminology. A relatively new agent, you were still eager to learn more and it never hurt to network a bit either as these seminars usually attracted law-enforcement agents from all over the US. At least you had your overnight bag ready in the car and could excuse yourself immediately to head for the airport, even if it meant missing out on the cocktails being served after-hours.

“Look at you, new girl,” Morgan joked when you stepped onboard and you rolled your eyes immediately. “Watch out, Hotch, she’s coming for your job.”

Instead of the t-shirt and black work pants you usually wore, you had dressed a bit more casually for the seminar. Nothing extravagant, but you wore a loose blouse under a slightly oversized dress jacket and a pair of hip-hugging jeans, appropriate for both the seminar and the networking event afterward. You supposed it was the dress jacket that made Morgan make the connection to Hotch, the only one of you who usually wore suits.

“She can have it,” Hotch mumbled where he was bent over his laptop, as usual in the single-seat in the back of the plane. He glanced up at you, a friendly smile in otherwise tired eyes. “How was the seminar?”

His demeanor made it so easy to remain professional, you thought and began lapsing into some of the key-points of the speakers. It was only in the privacy of your own apartment and bed you allowed yourself to indulge in any kind of fantasy about this man. At least that’s what you told yourself and it made it possible to keep going. 

As usual, Hotch listened attentively, no indication at all that things was anything but strictly professional between you two. Which you guessed they weren’t. Even if your heart raced when he used his hands to gesture, or when a quick-witted reply from you made his lips twitch in a slight smile. It wasn’t often you talked with him one-to-one and you savored the opportunity because no matter how delicious he was as an object of your sexual fantasies, he was also an esteemed and highly capable Special Agent and you used every opportunity to learn from him.

Everyone onboard, people settled into their usual routines. The first hours went by just discussing the case, familiarizing yourself with the background material and preparing for what you could expect when you touched ground again. This was another west-coast case, so it meant a long flight. 

Rossi unabashedly brought out a sleeping mask and settled in his seat while Reid played chess with himself. Prentiss tapped away on her phone, probably playing some mind-numbing game, while JJ made notes on the case files and Morgan tried to do the same, but his eyes slipped shut and he was fast asleep too. The jet-lag would be brutal when you arrived in California, as it was nighttime here now, but no one on the team had a consistent sleep schedule.

Your mind wandered to the chamomile tea, but in the end you decided to just get up and grab a bottle of water.

As you passed Hotch, he looked up and said your name softly to make you pause. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t ignore the sensation of deja vu and wondered if he recognized it as the same precursor of events to the  _ incident.  _ Like that time, he almost spoke in a hush, probably hoping the sleeping agents could get some rest while they still could.

“I was thinking, since you’re all dressed up,” he said with a kind smile, letting you know he was teasing, “if you wanted to do the initial brief for the local agents?”

It was a task usually rotated between the senior people on the team. And while you knew the case inside and out by now, you could never fully prepare for the questions thrown at you by the local cops who had struggled with the case for weeks now already. You licked your lips and Hotch’s eyes seemed to flicker down to your mouth. 

“Are you sure?” you asked, trying to not sound timid. You’d only been on the team for, what, six months? Seven? Time passed quickly, but you were still the designated ‘new girl’. “I mean, I know the case, but it’s the questions…”

“You’ll have the whole team to back you up,” Hotch said calmingly and for once, you didn’t think about his attractiveness as you folded your arms, looking down at him in deep thought. 

As much as his confidence in you mattered, you felt the slight trepidation at the responsibility. Young, female, you already struggled to get the respect necessary from the local police and if you messed up during a brief, you’d basically resigned yourself to getting coffee for the rest of the stay. 

“We got a few hours left of the flight,” Hotch said when you still hadn’t figured out a reply. He smiled. “Think about it. Your choice.”

Before you could answer, the familiar  _ ding _ sounded and the captain’s voice came over the scratchy speakers:  _ “Buckle up, kids. It’s gonna be a bumpy ride for a few minutes here.” _

Unable to help yourself, you met Hotch’s stoic expression with wide panicked eyes. There had been turbulence plenty of times since the  _ incident _ , but you hadn’t been in the vicinity of SSA Aaron Hotchner those times.

“I’m gonna go bac-” 

That was as far as you got before the first air-wave hit the plane and sent you flying, literally. For a split second you hung weightless in the air, some force counteracting another, before you slammed down straight into Hotch. Behind you, Reid cried out as his chess-pieces scattered and even Morgan yelped from being so brutally awakened.

You had landed halfway over Hotch, one knee pressed onto his seat and the other awkwardly straddling his right thigh and the armrest, tip of your toes touching the aisle floor. Instead of knocking him unconscious with your elbow, you managed to land it on the back of his seat, your other hand grabbing instinctively for his shoulder.

He, on the other hand, had grabbed you by your hips, probably to keep you still if the next turbulence hit just as hard. 

“Everyone okay?” Hotch called out from underneath you and the general consensus was that everyone was, indeed, okay. “All right, stay in your seats, guys.”

You briefly waited for a scathing remark from Morgan, because you were almost effectively sitting on top of your boss, but you remembered how everyone had chosen seats facing the front of the plane. Except for Rossi, but he hopefully still had that sleep mask on, sparing you and Hotch the additional humiliation of anyone actually seeing the compromising position. 

It probably looked a bit weird, but it felt even weirder because, with your general height difference, the position basically had Hotch’s entire face pushed into your chest. 

Swearing, you tried to push away from him, but the next jostle of the plane made you only slip further onto him and you realized the knee you had on his seat was nestled  _ between  _ his legs and now pushed into his crotch. 

Of course this would happen when you wore a shirt slightly more low-cut than usual and you could feel the heat of Hotch’s face and breath against your bare and apparently sensitive skin. Not in a sports bra either, you had opted for a soft wireless bralette with delicate lace that would do absolutely nothing to conceal your now hard nipples practically poking Hotch in the face.

“Oh God,” you mumbled, both at the sensation of Hotch’s rough cheeks scratching over the swell of your breasts and at the mortifying knowledge that your entire team was just a few feet away and if anyone turned in their seats or Rossi decided to take off his sleep-mask or-

Hotch, effectively covered by your breasts, gently whispered your name and asked: “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah,” you stuttered, which was a lie, but what could you say? You weren’t injured, except maybe in your head, as your body was interpreting the situation entirely differently from what it was. The heat from his face seemed to travel through your skin to pool between your legs where again, things ached and throbbed no matter how much you repeated the thought:  _ your boss, your boss, your boss _ . “Guess we’re even on that smothering part, huh?”

Which was a stupid thing to say, but it felt like he smiled, as his skin dragged across the upper part of your soft breasts again. 

“ _ Oh, come on!” _

Reid sounded annoyed when another round sent things flying in the cabin. It would have sent you flying too if Hotch’s arms hadn’t tightened their hold on you and you seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement to just wait it out. Adjusting only seemed to make things worse and your entire body felt coiled like a steel-spring with the effort of just remaining still.

The tremors were milder now, but still noticeable, especially in the way everything shook and vibrated at a high frequency. You wondered if Hotch noticed how your butt jiggled just inches away from where his hands held your hips. He must at least notice how your breasts bounced around inside the loose blouse. The bralette, cute and comfortable as it was, did not offer much in the way of support and even if the lace felt amazing against your aching nipples — that you desperately wanted someone to touch, pull, twist, anything — it was a flimsy barrier at best.

It was hard to tell how Hotch felt about the situation, his face somewhere beneath you and mostly concealed by your open, oversized dress jacket, but he probably felt a bit awkward with his mouth practically on your naked breasts. No matter the reason, he moved his head downward to where the blouse still covered you.

“Do you-”

He cut himself off and you realized exactly why as an involuntary shudder passed through you. In his effort to reach safe territory, his lips were now at the same height as your nipples. And when he had opened his mouth to ask you something, the edge of his mouth had flicked against one of your incredibly sensitive and incredibly stiff little buds. He had felt it. He had definitely felt it and even if he might have thought it was a button or some jewel stone on your bra, your bodily reaction had given you up right away.

This is your boss, you thought desperately, gripping the back of his seat to avoid moving even a quarter of an inch to either direction. This is your boss and your team is  _ right there _ , on the same plane as you, just a few feet away. Okay, sure, most had their backs turned and the oversized jacket did conceal just exactly how Hotch’s hot breath was pushing through your blouse directly next to your nipple and you supposed even your knee between his legs concealed the growing hardness you felt there.

This is your boss and your team is right behind you and nothing would ever be the same if they saw you like this and this was not supposed to make you even wetter, but it did. 

You fought to remain still, because this was still an accident, just like last time. No one’s fault, just a series of unfortunate events landing you and your hot and  _ erect _ boss in another compromising position that would fuel your masturbation sessions for months to come. If you moved with purpose, like just leaning back a little bit, rub your nipple over his mouth, things would change. Right now it was still salvageable.

Oh God, he was so hot and hard against your leg now. You had to fight the instinct to rub your knee against it, give him some of that friction you could imagine he craved as well. The plane continued to bounce you around, but you hardly noticed, just waited for everything to blow over so you could get in your seat, and then when you got to the hotel, you could take a shower and use your showerhead to simulate some of that-

“I’m gonna try and take a seat,” you mumbled, head swimming with all of these sensations, and you tried to brace your leg, the one that had been awkwardly out to the side, holding you up by your toes because the alternative would have been to sit down on Hotch’s thigh and then you would not have been able to resist rubbing against him just a little bit. “Don’t, uh, move.”

To his defense, he didn’t move. Unfortunately, the plane did. 

Reid yelled out again — you supposed his chess-pieces had gone flying — and you jolted around in Hotch’s arms. 

The hands on your hips held you in place, but the arm you had on the back of his seat slipped. You flew up, your top went down and now there was only one layer between your breasts and Hotch’s face. His face that you were halfway disappointed you couldn’t see, but judging by his growing erection, now involuntarily rubbed against your knee, he wasn’t too displeased with the situation.

Maybe he tried to save you the embarrassment, maybe it was getting too much for him, but he moved his face to the other side of the nipple that had previously brushed against his mouth. It was like he forgot you had two of them because he only achieved having the other one rub against his cheek. The lace and his stubble — it made you shudder and you bit your lips together to avoid moaning.

You should ask if he was okay, you thought, but the danger of him talking right now made you keep quiet. It didn’t help that during the commotion, one of his hands on your hips had shifted, grabbing firmly onto one of your ass cheeks, but it seemed he noticed the same time you did and his hand pulled back to your hips. Had he squeezed a bit before removing it? Was it just the movement of the plane playing tricks on you?

Speaking of, the turbulence still rolled over you and you realized there really was no support at all in this bralette. Your breasts danced around inside the flimsy material and with your blouse now pulled down beneath the bra-band, it was only a matter of time before the inevitable. You had no idea if Hotch could feel it, or if he knew it came, or if it was just you who could sense with each hard vibration of the plane, your left breast inched its way out of the cup of the bra.

“Mh.” You let out the softest whimper you could when your free nipple — hot and hard — touched Hotch’s scratchy cheek. He seemed to freeze under you, obviously aware of what had happened. Probably hard to ignore. You almost stopped breathing. Your jacket concealed both your breasts and his face, it still looked and was, technically, just an accidental touch beyond your control and no matter how much you wished to just arch your back a little, just rub it against him a little, you remained perfectly still.

So did Hotch. Until he didn’t.

Part of you wondered if you had lapsed into a deep fantasy again, because when Hotch slowly — so slowly you wondered if you imagined it — moved his head to the side towards the nipple now sliding over his skin, it felt unreal. It felt more unreal when you felt his hot breath fan out over it. 

You should have said something. Anything. Beg him to keep going or ask him if he knew what he was doing or just moan his name, but your mouth was as dry as your panties were not. This was not happening. This could not be happening. This was your  _ boss _ .

And your boss, who had to know what he was doing, whose mouth now bumped into your swollen little bud, kept turning his head and now closed his lips over your exposed nipple.  _ Oh God.  _ Everything clenched, as if he was already deep inside of you, and you had to bite your own lip hard to keep from groaning. 

Nothing else changed. The plane kept dancing through the clouds, Hotch’s hands remained still on your hips, your jacket hung over his face and your breasts. The only difference was your nipple locked between his pursed lips. 

His tongue swiped out, grazing the sensitive bud and you clenched again, both your pussy and your other hand still latched onto his shoulder, digging creases into his dress jacket. This was no longer accidental. The movement, so gentle and careful rubbing against your hard nipple, was deliberate. 

More, you wanted more. 

You got it, but not nearly enough. Hotch lazily swiped the flat edge of his tongue against your nipple. Hotch. It was a hard thing to consider as now he was just a headless entity beneath you, simply a mouth and a tongue, not a person, not your boss. Except he was your boss, with your nipple now in his mouth, a few feet away from the rest of your team who had no idea what was going on. 

You couldn’t move even if you tried. Every particle of you was so hyper-focused on his mouth on your nipple, his tongue now circling the engorged bud, flicking ever so slightly when the movement of the plane allowed him space. It was so gentle it could be considered torture. What you wanted were his fingers. His long strong fingers pinching and pulling and-

Hotch sucked your nipple into his mouth —  _ hard _ . 

“Mh.” Another low moan from you, unable to help yourself and you swear you felt his mouth twitch, as if in a smile. He knew what he was doing. By now, you wouldn’t be surprised if he could smell how wet you were. Or hear how your panties clung to your dripping pussy whenever the plane moved you around. You wondered if maybe you had left stains on his dress pants that last time. If he had known ever since how wet he had made you without even trying and now he was by all means trying and your eyes nearly rolled back into your head at the sensation.

Good God.

Just as it became painful, he released your nipple, gently running his tongue over the swollen bud. 

Remaining still over him, you suppressed another whimper when he moved to your other breast, still mostly covered by the thin lace of the bralette. His lips closed around the hitherto untouched nipple, bra and everything, and he sucked again. It set off gentle fireworks inside of you and you were so incredibly wet, almost desperate to rub yourself against him, but at the same time, him tonguing your nipples like this was better than anything you could imagine.

Your boss, now using his face only to push the bralette out of the way, meaning both of your breasts were open and exposed to him. Your boss, now grazing the stiff buds with his teeth, like you weren’t on a plane with the rest of the team either sleeping, reading or picking up chess-pieces just behind you. He couldn’t see anything, you realized, he was covered up fully and you had your back to the rest of the plane. You had no idea if Rossi had removed his sleep mask and was now watching the scene with interest. How much could he tell? How much still looked innocent and awkward, thrown together by the unpredictable movements of the plane? 

He couldn’t see your flushed face. He couldn’t see your naked breasts where your boss now bit harder down on the sensitive nipple before gliding his wet tongue over the same place, combining pain and pleasure so deliciously well. He couldn’t see Hotch’s hard cock jutting against your knee, only moving with the rest of the plane.

The risk made you even hotter. The fact that this was your boss, sucking and licking your nipples like this made it almost unbearable. You wanted to sit down on him, pull out his cock and ride him like this, in front of everyone, until  _ he _ shuddered and twitched inside of you, filling you up.

You were so close now, just from the careful and focused attention to your breasts. Hotch sucked your nipple hard, teasing it to stand even more proudly out from the otherwise soft curve, and then he used his front teeth to gently bite down.

The plane jumped again, Hotch’s teeth still on your nipple and they scraped over the sensitive bud with an almost painful tug that sent you over the edge. You came. You bucked slightly and Hotch must realize what was happening because he immediately sucked your nipple into his hot wet mouth, pulling and teasing, letting you ride the wave with your eyes rolling back into your head.

Unable to moan like you wanted, you hissed under your breath, swearing,  _ “Oh shit, oh shit, oh fuck, oh God…” _

A harsh shudder passed through you and you clenched and unclenched, for the first time in your life coming without even the slightest touch to your throbbing clit and you felt how wet and slick you were in your panties, drenched completely, all for your boss. All for Hotch.

Now you felt how sweaty you were too, a single drop running down your forehead, dripping down to the seat beneath you. The aftershocks trembled through you, like certain parts of you had their own pulse.

Half in a dreamlike state, you felt Hotch’s hand massage the curve of your thigh, an inch away from more dangerous territory and even as you came down from your high, you imagined his large hands holding your ass like that, pushing you up and down on his hard cock. No longer sucking or biting, he gave each nipple a gentle kiss, a peck really, as if to say thank you for the brief company, the fan of his breath more than enough to make you shiver uncontrollably again.

Still breathing hard, you didn’t realize the turbulence had ended until Hotch released your hips. Not saying anything, he reached to your front and gently pulled your bra and blouse back in place, one side at a time. Did his fingers linger a bit longer than necessary on your still hard and stiff nipples? Did he run the edge of his thumb across the bare swell of your breasts deliberately or accidentally? Did he want to dip that same thumb between your folds, flick gently against your clit and make you moan his name?

_ Ding _

_ “Okay, folks, that should be all of it. Sorry for the inconvenience.” _

Like last time, the captain’s voice brought you back to real life. There was no way of telling how much time had passed since the turbulence had started — probably not that long — but your legs still felt stiff and uncomfortable pushing off from Hotch.

And like last time, when Hotch’s face came into view again, his hair slightly tousled and his lips definitely swollen, he seemed to stare out into nothing for a second. Recalibrating, not obviously perturbed by what had happened, but this time you couldn’t help but glance down at the visible contours of a big and hard erection hidden in his dark dress pants. Okay, slightly physically affected at least.

“Are you,” Hotch pulled in a short breath and looked up at you where you now stood awkwardly next to his seat, “okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” you managed to answer, which was an understatement, because you had just had an orgasm you didn’t think was even possible. Unable to put thoughts together, you stared at Hotch’s face — his incredibly handsome face — and wondered what the protocol was. Did you return the favor? Ask him to join you in the kitchenette again? Pretend like nothing happened? 

“Jesus, that was a rough one,” Morgan said and you froze completely, fearing he was talking about something else, but when he passed you in the aisle, he was rubbing his neck. Turbulence. Rough turbulence. He paused a few feet after Hotch’s seat, and in afterthought turned to ask: “Hey, you guys want some coffee?”

“Yes, thank you, that would be great,” Hotch said, voice back to normal and you watched him run a hand through his hair, somehow putting every strand back in place in one movement. He rebooted his laptop, hitherto forgotten on the table.

“Hey, new girl,” Morgan prompted and you managed to tear your gaze away from SSA Aaron Hotchner, your boss, who had just given you an orgasm just by biting your nipples.The strange disconnect probably made you seem dimwitted and Morgan’s eyebrows rose. “Coffee?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” you stuttered and took a seat on the long bench on the other side of the aisle from Hotch’s seat. The wetness made your jeans slide over your mound. You still felt like you had to say something, anything, because  _ what _ had just happened? This was not like last time. Last time had been accidental. 

“You,” Hotch started and avoided eye-contact as he deftly shifted in his seat and you thought of his cock again, “think you’re ready to do the initial briefing when we land?”

Back to work, apparently, and the sudden realization that you were on the way to California to help catch a serial killer made it easier to come down from your high.

“Yeah,” you said and smiled, accepting the cup of coffee Morgan had produced miraculously fast. As Morgan flung himself on the seat next to you, you were spared trying to think of anything else to say. “Yeah, I’ll do the briefing.

* * *

The third time it happened you were flying commercial.

As much as Prentiss cracked jokes about this being the new reality — something about budget cuts and internal bureau politics — the real truth was that the jet was grounded for routine maintenance. Unfortunately, murder didn’t wait for anyone and Garcia booked you tickets on a direct flight to Somewhere, Arizona. On the way to the case, you were in business-class and apart from the flight attendants drifting past, it was almost like being on the jet and you did your usual discussions and case-briefings onboard.

There were pros and cons. The in-house entertainment system and consistent serving of snacks were definitely pros, but the designated seats and general noise of other people moving up and down the aisle were cons. In the end, what mattered was getting from A to B and you made it to Arizona to work the case as requested.

Luckily, you managed to crack the case a lot faster than initially thought. Unluckily, that meant the Jet still wasn’t available to pick you up and the pickings were slim for tickets back to Quantico. Despite Garcia’s best efforts, you ended up on a flight with no business class and last-minute tickets.

“Okay, we’ll do the debrief when we get back,” Hotch ordered after Reid had given some statistical analysis on how likely it was two or more of the team would have seats next to each other if the seat-chart was completely randomized. Walking through security, Hotch reminded everyone that: “No case files open on the plane, no writing reports, no discussions with identifying details. All right? Get some rest.”

It had been another few months since the second incident. This time, it took you weeks to even look Hotch in the eyes and you found, to your slight surprise and somewhat disappointment, nothing had changed. He treated you exactly the same. No shortcuts, no hard times, nothing. Things progressed in their usual manner. Your initial briefing that one time went relatively well with just a few cases of Morgan or Rossi stepping in to save you — and you were now included in the roster of holding them, same as everyone else.

So, Morgan still called you ‘new girl’, but by now you wondered if that was because he hadn’t actually learned your name yet.

As much as you had sort of hoped for more of a reaction from Hotch, it came as a relief that he still respected you as an agent and a profiler, even if your body sometimes forgot you were in a professional relationship only. Unfortunately, being a profiler meant you had spent a considerable amount of hours analyzing his behavior before, during and after the two incidents and it still did not make much sense. Either he had just gotten carried away with your breasts practically crawling into his mouth on their own accord. Or he believed you had pushed them into his mouth, which you had wanted to, but at least thought you hadn’t done. Or he considered it a sort of payback after what happened the first time, where he might have thought  _ he _ was the only one physically affected by the whole ordeal.

With last-minute bookings, you weren’t told your seat number until you checked in. Reid’s analysis in mind, you figured you would be spread all over the plane and you made a face at the thought. Usually, you would have debriefs on the Jet to help sort and compartmentalize some of the harder feelings connected to the case. Hearing Hotch’s soothing voice go through the case afterward helped ease some of the psychological stress and you silently bemoaned having to wait until you were back in Quantico. Without the debrief, you did not have much hope for sleep, but you had a decently interesting book and a cell-phone full of games to help pass the time. 

Row 35 put you far back in the plane. In fact, it was the last row and you made another face because the seats did not even recline back here. At least you had a window-seat, you thought, and hefted your bag off your shoulder to put in the overhead compartment.

The weight suddenly disappeared and you turned to thank the flight attendant, but was instead face-to-face with SSA Aaron Hotchner who did not seem to exert any effort at all stuffing your bag overhead. No wonder considering his firm biceps. Only his face showed any signs of his real age, he was muscular and in great shape, as you had experienced yourself when grabbing onto his strong arms.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, hoping to tap into that professionalism he always seemed to exude. You had been alone with him on a number of occasions after the second incident, always keeping it cordial and friendly, but for some reason being in the back of the dark unfamiliar plane made it awkward. You almost said something like: ‘Let’s hope there’s no turbulence’, but managed to keep your mouth shut.

“Last row, huh?” Hotch said with a frown, eyeing the uncomfortable seats. You could understand his annoyance - he was easily six-one and there was almost no leg-room to speak of. He let out a soft sigh, scanning the rows of seats up ahead where people were busy settling in. “I saw Rossi got the exit-row. You think I could order him to switch?”

It was a joke and you smiled, because if there was one thing you knew it was that Hotch would sacrifice both his legs rather than cause his team any discomfort. Was that why he had done it? Licked and sucked and bit your nipples until you climaxed? Because he could sense your discomfort? Sense how incredibly wet you were and how desperate you were to scratch that metaphorical itch?

Afraid he would be able to sense your arousal all over again, you cleared your throat. “I suppose it’s fine since we’re the only ones who don’t sleep on the flights anyway.”

“Fair point,” Hotch conceded and that was the end of the conversation. You scooted into the window-seat while Hotch checked his ticket and found he had the middle seat. The plane filled up and you refrained from commenting when Hotch brought out his laptop, effectively breaking his own rule. He noticed you looking and shrugged. “No one except you are gonna see my screen anyway.”

“Fair point,” you agreed with a smile, one that he returned. The speaker announced that boarding had completed and you realized there were a few empty seats back here. No one had claimed the aisle-seat and the entire row across the aisle stood empty. There was only one person sitting in the row in front and you suggested to Hotch he could move up if he wanted a more comfortable seat. He declined, murmuring something about work and with the aisle-seat empty, he could stretch out his legs that way.

You wondered if he had never brought up either of the incidents because  _ you _ hadn’t brought it up. Maybe he thought you were more comfortable just pretending it hadn’t happened? Or maybe  _ he _ was more comfortable pretending it hadn’t happened? Either way, despite having numerous occasions, you had never discussed it and again, despite your best efforts, you had never caught him even looking at you differently afterward. Like now, he seemed perfectly at ease pounding away on his keyboard, filling in routine reports to get some of the workload out of the way before they got back to Quantico.

An overnight flight, the crew informed you the lights would be turned off in the plane, but you were welcome to use the reading lights if necessary. Up until that point, you had been trying to read, but when the lights turned off and Hotch seemed content with just his laptop being on, you shut the book and tried to get some sleep. Unfortunately, the hard angle of the window made it uncomfortable. Because of the heat in Arizona, you only wore a tank-top and your most comfortable travel pants, which happened to be the same pair of black work pants from the first incident.

That meant you didn’t even have a jacket to use as a makeshift pillow and you glanced over at Hotch, wondering how annoyed he would be if you asked him to either take down your bag or get out of the way so you could get it yourself. 

“Can’t sleep?” he asked and you realized you had been caught staring. As he glanced up, something seemed to dawn on him and he nodded. “Hang on.”

With a dry mouth and wide eyes, you could only watch as SSA Aaron Hotchner, your boss, shrugged out of his suit jacket. It felt forbidden to watch, even more so because of the strange blue light from his laptop, and you wished he would take off his shirt next. He didn’t and instead folded his jacket, handing it over to you.

“Oh,” you said, completely taken aback, and recalled your previous thoughts about Hotch. He cared about his team. “Thanks.”

Putting the jacket between you and the wall, you leaned back and closed your eyes. Except you were wide-awake now. The jacket smelled like Hotch, that same cologne you had detected right before the first incident, and the scent combined with the sound of his rough fingers on the keyboard made you hot all over again. Those fingers. Those hands. Everything you had imagined so many times because it wasn’t like you had stopped fantasizing about Hotch after he had taken your nipples in his mouth, and sucked and nibbled until you came so hard you had to take off your panties in the Jet lavatory because they were so wet.

Jesus, was that the same guy sitting next to you now, writing a report about yet another gruesome murder in rural America? 

You knew it was, you knew it was Hotch, your boss, who had done it and that thought just made you wet all over again. Not for the first time, your thoughts drifted to dangerous territory. If he was that skilled with his mouth on your breasts, how would he fare further south? You hoped he would be a little rough, even if there was nothing to indicate you would ever be able to experience it. Sucking just a little too hard, maybe grazing his teeth over your clit, shoving two fingers into you, pushing on that edge again between discomfort and bliss. And even if you became a little too sensitive, he wouldn’t let up, still using his fingers on you until you climaxed on his hand, riding it like you wanted to ride him. 

Would he let you straddle his face? Rub yourself over him, using his tongue to get off? Letting you be in control, for just a bit, until he turned the tables and grabbed the back of your head, forcing you down into his crotch, shoving past your lips-

The plane jumped a bit and you shifted in your seat. You had never predicted turbulence would become a turn-on, but that — especially combined with the sound of Hotch pounding his laptop-keys — had turned into a Pavlov’s bell where your pussy immediately flooded.

You wondered about his size. Would it fit in your mouth? Would you be able to take all of him? Maybe if he helped, holding your head, sliding down past that point of comfort, your nose tickling with his dark pubic hair and you’d try to breathe through your nose, even if it’s hard, even if it’s hard because you have your boss’s big fat cock in your mouth, stuffed down your throat.

Opening your eyes, you glanced over at him again where he sat fully focused on his work. You tried to surreptitiously rub your legs together, relieve some of that heat, but it was futile. You didn’t even want to touch yourself, you wanted  _ him _ to touch you and part of you hated that you hadn’t taken the chance last time. He had sucked your nipples until they ached and you hadn’t even rubbed your knee against his hard dick. Given him nothing in return while you came, shivering and drenched, with his teeth tugging on your over-sensitive nipple.

This was getting too much. Your eyes flickered to the aisle behind Hotch. The lavatory was just inside there. With how hot you were, it wouldn’t take long for you to come. Maybe then you’d be able to get some sleep. You could go back there, peel down your pants, use one hand to pinch your nipples, the other to rub across your clit, knowing your boss — the object of all your desires — was sitting just outside. Maybe he’d even know what you were up to. Maybe he  _ could _ smell or hear or sense your arousal, clear as day, and maybe his dick would get hard, thinking of you in there, masturbating while moaning his name under your breath.

Oh yeah, this would definitely not take long.

“Uh, Hotch, can I…” Your voice sounded hoarse, but you hoped he thought you had been asleep. You gestured towards the aisle and he seemed to catch your drift. The sparse leg-room had him put his laptop in the empty seat next to him, fold up the table, but instead of getting out completely, as you had expected, he pushed his back into the seat. 

“Can you squeeze past?” he asked in a low voice and you realized the passenger in the row in front of you was asleep. “My leg’s gone dead.”

There was a joke, you thought, about which direction to face when squeezing past someone. Did you want your crotch or your ass in their face and right now the answer was both. You wanted him to lap you up, front and back.

“Sure,” you said, got up and decided to move with your back to him. At least that spared you the awkwardness of seeing him at the same time. Shuffling sideways, paranoid he would hear the wet sounds from your pussy, you made it halfway down the row when the plane lurched.

Turbulence. Fucking turbulence.

The hard tilt smacked you straight on your ass, but unfortunately that ass was now planted squarely in Hotch’s lap. He oof-ed at the impact, both hands landing on your waist to keep you steady, and you realized if his hands moved two inches up, he would touch your breasts, like you had craved so much just seconds earlier.

“Uh…”

Hotch cleared his throat. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, wondering if anyone was gonna address the awkwardness or how it seemed the universe had a personal agenda to make the two of you bone. “Just a bit of,” you cleared your throat, “turbulence. I’m gonna get up.”

In unspoken unison, you got up from his lap with his assistance, his hands shifting from your waist to your hips to help you up. The cramped room between his seat and the one in front had you bend slightly backward. Another lurch of the plane and you found yourself back in his lap.

It wasn’t all bad though, you had managed to catch yourself with your hands this time, locked between him and the curve of your ass. Unfortunately, that meant your hands were also in Hotch’s lap and he had let out a sharp grunt. One hand of your hands dug into his thigh, but the other had landed a bit higher up — and you could feel him growing underneath your palm.

Your mind screamed at you to say something. Address the awkwardness. Make a joke, laugh it off, ask if that was a gun in his pocket or if he was just happy to see you. Anything but pretend nothing had happened, but that was exactly what you did. Not daring to move your hand, you sat there in his lap, feeling what he undoubtedly also felt, his erection pushing against your hand through the fabric of his pants. You didn’t even squeeze your hand around him, you just remained perfectly still. 

It was hard to tell if it was the plane or him, but he twitched under your fingers and his breath came in a low hiss from somewhere around your neck. His hands were back on your waist, but higher up, cupping the curve of your ribcage so that if he moved his thumbs up, he would caress the sides of your breasts. So close and so far away at the same time.

Locked in a stand-off, unsure if moving or not moving was the right call here, you remained in his lap. With the darkness of the plane, you had forgotten there were other people around until the ‘Fasten Seatbelt’-sign switched on with a  _ ding _ .

_ “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. There’s some rough weather ahead and you might experience some mild turbulence. Nothing to worry about, but please remain seated. Thank you.” _

A split second later, the same message repeated in Spanish.

“I should, uh, get in my seat,” you found yourself saying, breathless and with your hand still over SSA Aaron Hotchner’s stiffening cock. 

He cleared his throat somewhere behind you and his face touched your neck as he nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

The problem was, with your awkward angle, you didn’t really have the leverage to push yourself up by your feet and core strength alone. You would need to use your hands, but one of your hands still palmed around his dick and either moving it or pushing against it would be awkward at best, painful at worst.

Hotch must have realized your predicament as he cleared his throat again. “On three?”

If he lifted and you pushed with your legs, you would be able to get up. Whispering, you confirmed: “On three.”

“One,” his hands tightened on your ribcage, “two”, you braced your legs against the floors, “thre-”

Hotch lifted, you pushed, the plane jumped.

Instead of getting up, you smacked down further against him, one hand still trapped between him and your butt, still holding him where no one should hold their boss — unless you really wanted promotion. Even worse, the movement had pushed his hands up too, holding you where a boss should not hold his employee unless he was really sure she would not file sexual harassment charges.

So there you were, in the back of a dark commercial flight, you in his lap, one hand on his dick and his hands cupping both your breasts with splayed fingers.

At some point, you just had to go with the flow. If you hadn’t been so turned on from before you would have started laughing because it was clear you weren’t getting out of his lap. And you didn’t even really want to if you were honest. This was your boss, yes, and his dick was hard, your pussy wet and his hands still splayed over your breasts — he hadn’t moved them the slightest since the last jump — so what were you supposed to do?

Instead of saying anything, you held your breath and pushed your palm down slightly against him. Hard and hot, practically burning through his dress pants, and Hotch rewarded you with a slight sound, somewhere between a hiss and a groan. Encouraged, but still not breathing, you drew your hand up and down the length of him, almost sizing him up. 

This was like last time, pushing the line from accidental to deliberate, but he was not telling you to stop. You wanted to make him feel good, return the favor from last time, but that was also a lie because what you really wanted was him deep inside you, to come around him, squeezing him hard with your inner walls.

But while it was in the back of a dark commercial flight, you were still in a public setting and you could only imagine the headlines if you were caught trying to have sex like this, with your pants around your ankles and his fly open, covered in your juices.

So you stayed on his lap, rubbing his hard cock underneath his pants, and suppressed a groan when he ran his fingers over the curves of your breasts. Your nipples poked against the fabric of your sports bra and tank top, a ridge he let all four of his fingers bump against, teasing the sensitive buds.

Curling your own fingers, you gently stroked your thumb over the hard swell of his dick, over the head, wondering if you imagined a slick sensation between fabrics, as if precum coated him somewhere underneath several layers. Again that strained sound, the sound of a Supervisory Special Agent, the BAU Unit Chief, of Aaron Hotchner trying to remain quiet and possibly in control. So focused on your hands, you didn’t even think about his face until you felt his warm breath hit the curve of your neck. Were his eyes closed or open? Brows pulled together probably, mouth tightly closed, jaw flexed and working, struggling to remain quiet. Another huff of warm air tickled your skin when you wrapped your hand around him to properly jerk him off, using the several layers of fabric as a cocoon to move around him.

And as you had imagined, as you had dreamt, SSA Aaron Hotchner was not one to be outplayed. His hands on your breasts groped harder, squeezing and fondling through the constraints of the sports bra, until both hands simultaneously went down, found the hem of your tank top and his splayed fingers ran over your slightly damp skin. Up to the second layer, pushing underneath until his rough palms cupped your naked breasts and you had stopped breathing again, just waiting for what you knew — hoped — wanted to come.

His fingers cupped your breasts again, squeezing the soft flesh, and ran over your nipples in almost lazy gestures. Teasing, for now. He knew what you wanted. He knew as he’d given it to you before, knew you wanted it slightly rough, slightly painful, slightly-

Not only had you stopped breathing, but you had also stopped moving and he pushed against your hand, reminding you of its purpose, his hands on your breasts effectively stilling until you resumed. You did. Biting your lip, you used your fingers to stroke over his cockhead again, there was definitely some natural lubrication there, and now when you wrapped your hand around him, he bucked against it, fucking it slowly. 

The plane trembled around you, nothing like the hard turbulence you had experienced before, but you did not pay it any attention. You bit your lip when his fingers — his strong and hard fingers — finally found your nipples. He rolled them between thumb and forefinger, moving back and forth until they could not swell anymore. Without warning, he squeezed together, pinching your nipples roughly and twisting, just to that border of painful you loved. It was better than you imagined, his fingers stronger and more skilled than you had dared dream and this time you did arch your back, pushing into his hands, making sure he knew that you wanted it.

More than that, you wanted him. 

Hotch kept fucking your hand through the expensive fabric of his dress pants. You squeezed and fondled, wanting to do more, and through accident, your fingers brushed against the metal of his zipper. His fingers, toying and tugging on your very sensitive nipples, stilled briefly when you managed to work his fly open. Not wanting to move too much, to avoid breaking the trance-like state you found yourself in at these times, you wiggled in his lap to get your hand into the confines of his pants. You stroked against the soft cotton, it felt like boxer briefs, and slipped inside to his scorching hot skin.

He groaned against the back of your shoulder, his fingers squeezing painfully on your nipples, to either reward or punish your bravery. This was your boss and you were pushing the boundaries of what could be recoverable if someone suddenly walked back here. If the lights turned back on and someone in the rows in front stood up to use the lavatory. It should not turn you on further, but it did, especially when your hand closed around his hard, naked cock. Even if you already knew, feeling it fill your palm like this made you appreciate how big he was all over again. Thick more than long, but you would still struggle to take all of him in your mouth if you wanted to.

The ‘Fasten Seatbelt’-sign suddenly switched off and the unfamiliar captain sounded over the PA-system. The turbulence had ended without either of you realizing it. Part of you held your breath, waiting for the lights to turn back on, but this was an overnight flight and most people were sound asleep. 

You remained in Hotch’s lap, still slowly jerking him off in the confines of his pants, his fingers still rubbing your nipples inside your sports bra, although you were probably an inch away from spilling over your neckline with how your tank top had shifted around. 

Where did you go from here? You wanted to make him come, but there was a logistical problem and you wore tight pants, not exactly appropriate clothing for public sex. If you’d worn a skirt or a dress, you could have pulled him out of his pants, lowered yourself on it, rocked silently until he came inside you and you would gladly have walked around with the evidence of that running down your thighs.

Without thinking, you looked back at him, as if asking for his opinion. Even in the dark, you could see the contours of his face clearly and you realized this was the first time you  _ had _ seen his face during these times. First time, he had bent over behind you. Second time, hidden by your jacket and breasts. And now you’ve had your back to him the whole time until now. 

Christ, he was hot. His normally dark eyes looked black, pupils dilated where he stared back at you, his jaw locked tight just as you had imagined. You opened your mouth to whisper something, you didn’t even know what, but he misinterpreted the gesture and the next thing you knew, he pulled your head back to kiss you deeply.

It was surprisingly gentle, his tongue curving into your mouth, running over the edge of your bottom lip, coaxing your tongue to flick against his. It was so hot you stopped moving again, leaning into the kiss, deepening it by sinking further against his chest. With a last hard tug on your nipples, making you moan into his mouth, he slid his hands out of your top. Like last time, he made sure to cover you up, this time there was no doubt he ran his fingers an extra time over your breasts before ending the kiss softly.

You did not fully understand what was happening before you felt him push you out of his lap, back into your own seat. He had flipped the armrest up, and somehow you now sat next to him. It made sense. People could come walking back here, heading for the lavatory and you in his lap was too obvious. 

For a while, you both stared at each other. Barely able to discern the contours of his features in the dark, you thought he looked breathless. Another standstill. Neither had gotten what you wanted or needed. Wordlessly, you reached behind you to grab his jacket. Even if it would not camouflage your movements completely, it would make it hard to detect anything amiss in the darkened plane. If possible, his jaw flexed even harder when he realized you weren’t done yet. He still draped the jacket over his lap without protest.

Maintaining eye-contact with Hotch, your handsome, professional and erect boss, you reached your closest hand back into his pants. It felt like gripping the barrel of your service-weapon after emptying the magazine, he was so hot. Your fingers moved up and down the pulsating hard cock now hidden underneath his jacket. His eyes closed, head falling back, powerful jaw flexing when your fingers rubbed across a sensitive spot. Able to see his face, you felt a heat inside of you — this was your boss. Handsome, professional, button-upped SSA Aaron Hotchner breathing hard because of what you were doing to him.

Your heart thumped against your ribcage. The turbulence had ended, that was usually when you stopped. This was new territory. Half an eye on him, you kept watch in case the flight attendants suddenly came to check on you. All the while stroking the warm dick in your hand. Hotch’s muscled stomach flexed and unflexed against your arm, obviously trying to remain both quiet and discreet. You shifted in your seat, wanting some friction against yourself, but focused on him. His mouth parted slightly, breathing quickening.

Hoping it looked natural, you leaned over to his side, like if you wanted to rest your head on his shoulder. If he understood or just reacted, Hotch nevertheless wrapped his arm around your shoulder, holding you to his side while you kept rubbing him, alternating pressure on your fingers, sometimes squeezing a bit too hard over his head or using your thumb to swipe across the sensitive glans. You looked like a couple stealing some intimate moments together — still unprofessional if any of your team-members happened to come back here, but not indecent. Not yet.

Fisting his cock at a steady pace, you turned to whisper something at him. Again, he interpreted the gesture for something else and his arm tightened around you, bringing you closer to kiss you. More force in this one, harder lips and oh-so-hot. He bucked against your hand while using his tongue to taste all of you. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, biting down slightly and you stifled a moan into his mouth. Pulling back, you could feel his breath against your wet lips. 

You swallowed before whispering: “ _ When you’re close, lift your jacket up.” _

This was also new territory — talking, no matter how quietly. It should be impossible, but his eyes turned darker at your words. You stared into those dark eyes, willing him to see you this time, recognize you for who you were. He almost looked angry, with a harsh furrow between his brows, only his slightly parted lips revealing how much he fought to stay in control. Every once in a while, you glanced at the aisle, but you’re still alone. The passenger in front of you was still asleep, none the wiser.

Keeping the firm steady pace, you fisted his cock continuously. Feeling him twitch against your fingers, the sharp exhales against your face, his hand digging into your shoulder, his stomach muscles flexing involuntarily. The furrow in his brow deepened, smoothed out, and was replaced with lifted brows. 

He’s close, you thought, and took a last glance at the blessedly empty aisle just as Hotch lifted his jacket. Not thinking anymore, you bent down, felt him cover you with the jacket and you took the head of his hard dick in your mouth. He might have muttered something above you, might have been swearing, but you didn’t care. 

One hand pumping his cock, you licked and swirled your tongue all over him, tasting the tangy precum, soon replaced with spit. You picked up the pace, jacking him off hard now, wrapping your mouth over the tip of his dick, sucking the head in, letting your teeth touch the sensitive ridge.

A faint grunt and he bucked in his seat. Keeping your lips suctioned on him, you breathed through your nose as the first hot drops of cum hit the roof of your mouth, then your tongue, which you kept lapping at his probably sensitive head. Normally not a fan, you swallowed his semen without hesitation, getting rid of the evidence, not minding the bitter flavor for once. All the while, your hand kept stroking his cock.

His strong thighs flexed under your other hand, obviously still riding out the ejaculation. You felt a pressure on the back of your head, gentle at first, as if testing your resistance. Submitting, you took more of him in your mouth, removed your hand and before you knew it, Hotch pressed your face down, so that your nose grazed against his pubes and you had to focus to relax your throat where his dick pressed down. As you expected, it was a tight fit and you focused on breathing, suppressing the urge to gag. You could feel him shudder as he bucked again, his dick pushing against the ridges of your throat. He had already come, you knew he was sensitive, and yet he still wanted that final edge, that extra push towards discomfort and it made you so hot to think about.

The pressure let up just before you would have gagged on him, and you lifted your head, tried to breathe quietly instead of gasping in air, dragging your tongue up his twitching dick. Inspired by him, you gave the head a quick peck. Another shudder passed through him and you discreetly wiped your mouth before emerging back up to the dark plane. 

Hotch sat rigid in his seat, breathing hard through his nose, and waited until you sat back up before adjusting himself, presumably tucking his dick back into his pants and zipping up. 

You were so wet you worried you would slide out of your seat. And still being able to taste Hotch’s cum — your boss’s cum — in your mouth only made it worse. Your eyes adjusted to the dark interior of the plane, studied the contours of Hotch, noticing his chest going up and down, still hard of breath. He stared into the seat in front of him, a look you recognized, the recalibration into work-mode.

So when he suddenly turned to you, leaning over to you, like he wanted to look out the window, but instead gave you another soft, wet kiss, you stopped breathing. His tongue ran over the inside of your lip, his tip trailing across your tongue, obviously not deterred by where your mouth had just been. He pushed you back against your seat, and you shivered when feeling his hand on your knee, trailing up. Anyone walking by would see a loving couple showing affection, not a pair of FBI-agents decisively well beyond the border of professionalism.

His hand — one of those you had dreamt so much about — massaged the inside of your thigh, still an inch away from where you wanted him to touch you the most. Strong and capable fingers edging closer and closer and you whimpered into his mouth as he let one hard finger trail the mid-seam of your crotch. He bit your lip between his teeth, a slight pressure, warning you to keep quiet and you didn’t even dare nod in return because you were so ready to climax you almost shook in trepidation.

He increased the pressure, still on the outside of your pants and you knew he could feel the dampness seeping through. You were so wet, so hot, so needy for him and you shuddered uncontrollably when he used the tip of his finger to rub gently over your clit. The thin fabric of your underwear and the stretchy material of your work pants slid over you, the natural lubrication making everything slick and gliding over your folds.

Hotch had stopped kissing you, but hovered with his face right by yours, eyes glancing to the side like yours had done before, keeping watch in case anyone happened by. A good thing as your eyes closed on their own volition when he dragged his knuckle over you. You should have worn a skirt, you thought, or a dress. Something he could have slipped his hand under, plunging two fingers inside of you, instead of this teasing pressure on the outside of your pants.

A nearby cough made both of you freeze. Your eyes flew open, half-expecting to see Morgan or Prentiss standing by your seats, eyebrows up and wanting an explanation. Instead it was just the passenger in the row in front of you, obviously waking up from their nap. Both of you held your breaths, waiting for them to go back asleep, but no such luck. Rustling around, the passenger reached up to turn on their reading-light, obviously interested in the in-flight magazine.

The light was not bright, but enough to illuminate the row you and Hotch were in as well. It cast a warm glow over Hotch’s face, still close to yours. It made his eyes less dark, closer to his natural brown, but his pupils were enlarged, still looking at you. 

You swallowed, not sure if you should say something or do something or if it was necessary to let him know how much you needed more of that slight friction he had just given. Slowly, without breaking eye-contact, Hotch pulled back and sat properly in his seat. It meant his hand left you too and you tried to just keep breathing, resigning yourself to a few more months of pretending nothing had happened while fingering yourself furiously to the memories.

Hotch cleared his throat gently, but pointedly and you realized he had reached for his jacket. He let his eyes flicker up and down your body and you thought you understood. Keeping an eye on him in case you had misunderstood and he simply intended you to use the jacket as a pillow to go back to sleep, you draped it over yourself like something closer to a blanket, covering you from shoulders to knees. He nodded.

The reading-light in the row in front of you crossed another boundary, not to mention the passenger now awake and languidly reading the magazine, but you were so desperate to get off now that you really couldn't care less. All you could care about was how Hotch leaned back in his seat and slid his closest hand over to your side, under his jacket and landing on your thigh. If someone walked by, it might look like you were holding hands. You at least hoped it wouldn’t look like your boss, your supervisory agent, was inching his fingers into the waistband of your pants. Unable to breathe, you opened up the top button and slid the zipper down to give him more room. If anyone asked, you could say you were bloated. 

No one needed to know you were soaking wet between your legs, a place Hotch was now carefully moving towards. Both of you sat with straight backs — you would have given a lot for the chance to recline the seat — and you closed your eyes, pretending to be asleep when Hotch’s strong index finger pushed into your thin microfiber panties, the kind with no seams, designed to be invisible under the tight pants you wore. A shuddering breath left you — Hotch’s finger almost slid down as he reached the top of your vulva, between your literally pooling wet folds, dipping in to touch across your clit. The awkward angle did not allow for much, but he parted your lips with two fingers and used his middle one to rub your aching clit and you shivered, wanting to ride his hand, fighting to remain still.

Your mind blanked, nothing existing except that delicious tingling brought forth from Hotch’s finger on your swollen wet clit. With every exhale, your chest bucked, like you had raced up a set of stairs, trying to conceal how out of breath you had become. Like you had done with him, he kept a steady rhythm, going in a circular motion over the hood. Even if you wanted his finger inside of you, the way you sat made it impossible and you were so ready to come you didn’t really care how.

Either Hotch was the greatest profiler in the world or he could read minds, but he knew exactly what you needed. He increased the pressure, but kept the rhythm and now you swallowed harshly, just as you’d just swallowed his cum, and God, he’d shoved his dick down your throat afterward and now you wondered if that might have been more for your sake as he knew what you liked and had there ever been something so hot as feeling him push your head down like that, almost to the brink of gagging, but not quite? You’d made him come, you realized, just with your hand and mouth. You had made SSA Aaron Hotchner come and your mind replayed that faint grunt you had heard from where you were sucking his cock under his jacket in the back of a commercial flight.

And now he returned the favor by rubbing your blistering hot clit, letting the pleasure build and build inside of you, and oh God you were so, so, so close and if he just kept that firm pressure against you like he was doing right now you could never listen to him type on his keyboard ever again without becoming turned on and Jesus, those were the same fingers he had used to play with your nipples just now, exactly how you wanted it, a little hard, just a little too hard…

Hotch circled your clit relentlessly, and you clenched your entrance tight together, waiting for it. Your hands gripped the armrest, digging your fingers into the plastic, and focused on the rough pad of his finger rubbing and rubbing and God, you were almost there, just a little more and-

_Finally,_ he pushed you over the edge so hard you had to flex your entire body to avoid spasming against his hand. 

Somehow your pussy flooded with more essence, making you if possible even wetter and your hips did micro-thrusts against his finger as you rode out the orgasm, forgetting all about breathing until you had to take a short gasping inhale.

He didn’t stop, even if there was no way he didn’t know you had climaxed and he kept up the same pace, same pressure, so that it felt like you came continuously for several long seconds. So swollen and sensitive, it became unbearable and you wanted to pull away, but were already so far back in your seat you had nowhere to go and it wasn’t until you let out an impossibly soft whimper that he stilled his fingers. 

Your entire body felt flushed with heat and you slumped back against the seat, post-orgasm bliss rolling over you. Hotch never removed his hand, but left it splayed over your pussy, his finger resting over your throbbing clitoris. Rationally, you knew you had been quiet, you knew you had been discreet, but the fact that a person sitting on the row in front of you had read an in-flight magazine without a care in the world while  _ your boss _ brought you to the best orgasm of your life seemed surreal. 

Hotch cleared his throat and that was even more surreal. It was the same sound he made in the office when he wanted to get your attention and it was not a sound you typically associated with him having his hand down your underwear. Blinking, still coming down from your high, you looked over at him. His dark eyes crinkled in a small smile.

“Are you,” his finger rubbed one final time over your clit and you spasmed as it was  _ way  _ too sensitive and he  _ knew _ that and did it anyway, “okay?”

Not sure what else you could do, you just nodded in response. Voice stuck too far back in your throat to say anything anyway. Hotch gave an even nod in return and pulled his hand out of your panties and pants and finally out from his jacket still laying over you.

He cast a glance at the aisle and the row in front of you, but you were still blessedly undisturbed. Keeping eye contact with you, he held his hand up closer to the reading light and you saw how his fingers glistened with your wetness. This was your boss showing you how wet you had been around his fingers. This was your boss who had made you climax for a second time aboard an airplane, now fully acknowledging that something had happened instead of brushing over it immediately afterward.

Pushing boundaries all the time and there was  _ nothing _ professional with how Hotch brought his fingers up to his mouth, still looking you in the eyes while licking your juices off his wet digits. And neither did it become anymore professional when he slowly, still keeping an eye on the aisle, put his fingers to your mouth where you instinctively opened and sucked in both his index and middle finger. It was not the first time you had tasted yourself, but it was the first time you had done so from SSA Aaron Hotchner’s hand.

Somehow both of you caught the movement behind you when the curtains twitched aside and a flight attendant emerged on wobbly heels. Hotch’s hand dropped to his lap in an instant, while you discreetly closed your pants under his jacket. The flight attendant moved past without acknowledging your row — someone further ahead had pushed the call button.

You met Hotch’s unreadable expression. Had he considered the attendants were right behind you all this time? You know you hadn’t and the added thrill made your belly tingle with what you’d just gotten away with.

Hotch’s gaze seemed to linger on the flight-attendant, obviously waiting until she was sufficiently down the aisle before he turned to you. Again, you wondered about the protocol here, but Hotch did the thinking for you as he leaned over to your seat and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. Not a peck, but a soft and easy kiss on your already swollen lips.

“I need to finish up that report,” he said in a low voice, a familiar voice, one you had heard every single day for the last ten months or so, but never thought you would hear so close to your face. “Try to get some rest.”

“Okay,” you said in a breathless voice and your heart fluttered when he kissed you again, even lighter than before and then he pulled away. 

It was like you blinked and Hotch was back in his professional role, sitting comfortably in his seat next to you and bringing up his laptop. Making sure you hadn’t accidentally stripped naked, you slowly pulled away his jacket and folded it up as a makeshift-pillow. 

You fell asleep within minutes, listening to SSA Aaron Hotchner’s strong fingers pound away on his laptop.

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing both 2nd-person POV and E-rated smut, how did I do?
> 
> Thank you so much for reading anyway :)
> 
> Would appreciate any feedback, so please leave a comment and tell me what you think!


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